Mad Delights (6 page)

“Do you know who did it?” the man asked. “I’m his…was…his uncle.”

Romeo shook his head. “Not yet.”

The man reached up and took hold of his sister’s hand. “What’ll you do when you do find out?”

“I plan to tear him to fucking pieces,” Romeo promised solemnly.

“Good,” Mrs. Stillwater said. “You do that for my boy.” Grief hunched her shoulders, her face a mask of misery and regret. Just as a tear escaped from her eye, she spun away and headed back into the trailer.

“We’re so sorry,” Romeo told Babyface’s uncle, then he turned to get back on his bike. Anger churned in his gut. There was no way he was going to reveal to Mrs. Stillwater just how her son had died, how he’d been disrespected. “We should be able to compensate her.”

“With what money?” Boone asked as he straddled his bike.

“I don’t know. And I know money can’t possibly make up for losing a kid, but I want to help her.”

Boone glanced at Gabby. “Listen, I have a bit of cash saved up. We can send that to Mrs. Stillwater if you want.”

Romeo frowned. “I wouldn’t ever ask you to do something like that. You earned that money.”

Boone shrugged. “It’s yours if you want it.”

“Thanks,” Romeo said. “Boone, do you…?”

“Do I what?” Boone prompted.

“Do you think Wheels made a mistake about me?”

Boone stared at him with his cool gray eyes. Behind him, Gabby stared at him too. Romeo met their scrutiny without fidgeting under their intense appraisals.

“This club is at a crossroads,” Boone finally said. “And I think Wheels saw this coming years ago. Now you have a choice. You can be the man who got the name Romeo by burying himself in pussy, or you can be the president Wheels always thought you could be. But you can’t waver and you can’t ignore what this club needs.”

It wasn’t until they were halfway back to the compound that Romeo realized Boone had never answered his question.

* * * *

Monday came all too soon and this time Chloe was stuck doing urology procedures. One thing she’d learned long ago in this job was that seventy-year-old cocks were vastly different from thirty-year-old cocks. Pulling kidney stones out of shriveled urethras wasn’t her favorite task at all.

So when lunchtime rolled around, she wasn’t in the best of moods and sneered when she walked into the break room. Someone with seriously bad taste in rustic country charm had gotten their hands on decorations for the area. Cutesy wooden cutouts of farm animals, adorned with calico material, took up every available space. Even the table and chairs were nightmares from a craft store hell, with cow seat cushions and salt and pepper shakers shaped like pigs. The urge to vomit every time she walked into it cramped Chloe’s stomach.

Susan, the snob OR nurse—as Chloe liked to think of her—sat perched on the edge of her chair as she blew on a steaming cup of tea. She was so not the person Chloe wanted to deal with, but short of denying herself lunch, she couldn’t kick the woman out.

“So how was your weekend?” Susan asked brightly.

“Fine.”

“I can’t imagine what you did, stuck here.”

Chloe shrugged. She didn’t want to answer and encourage more idle chitchat.

Susan didn’t pick up on the mental thought. Nor, did it seem, was she prone to mind control. “Then again, I don’t know what possessed you to move to Bair in the first place.”

Chloe popped the lid on her soda.

“There is absolutely nothing here except dirty bikers and dirty gang bangers,” Susan continued. “Of course, those bastards are what keeps this job interesting. It’s a shame that the cops can’t just go in, drop a few bombs into their little club and put us all out of our misery. I bet if those ugly bikers went away, the drug gang would go away too. You know how awful those types of people are.”

Anger surged through Chloe, but she bit her bottom lip to help defuse her instinct to do something impulsive. Just because Susan rubbed her the wrong way wasn’t reason enough to punch her.

“So why did you move here?” Susan asked again. One corner of her mouth curled upward and her eyes narrowed speculatively. “Are you crazy or something? Is that why you moved to shithole Bair, Nebraska? Only someone escaping the loony bin would move here willingly.”

Out of everything Susan could’ve said, she’d had to use the word crazy. It was a taunt Chloe couldn’t ignore. She could handle a confusing weekend and a shitty morning, but what she couldn’t cope with was her sanity being called into question. She
wasn’t
crazy until someone pointed out that maybe she was.

Chloe walked over to the chair and kicked it out from under Susan’s ass. The nurse went down, chin first, which hit the surface of the table. She let out a cry of pain as blood gushed from her mouth. No doubt, the bitch had bitten through her viperous tongue.

Chloe leaned over her. “You say one more derogatory remark against me or the Men of Hell and more than your tongue will need stitches,” she said softly. “From now on, you’ll only say nice things about us, or nothing at all. Do you understand me, Susan?”

Susan stared at her in pure terror through wide, pain-glazed eyes. Tears ran down the woman’s cheeks, but Chloe was immune to the sympathy they should’ve invoked. She had no pity for people who pissed her off. When Susan nodded jerkily, Chloe smiled and eased back.

“Excellent,” she replied. “You asked if I was crazy and I hope I answered your question. Don’t forget that I know where you live, Susan, so let’s keep this between us besties, all right?”

Again, Susan nodded, terror and pain mixing equally on her face.

Chloe raised her voice. “We need some help in here!”

A second later, a doctor rushed into the room. “Oh, my God! What happened?”

“She just slipped,” Chloe said, schooling her features into a mask of concern. “I opened my soda, took a drink, and heard her hit the table. It was awful.”

“Aw, Susan,” the doctor said. “I think you’re going to need stitches. Come with me.”

The doctor slipped his arm around Susan’s shoulders to help her out of the break room. Chloe couldn’t help but wink at her as she passed.

* * * *

After the fervor of Susan’s ‘accident’ had died down, the rest of the work day blew by quickly and Chloe’s last case of the day was a tractor accident where a man had impaled himself. Once the spike had been removed, they’d had to do an exploratory surgery to make sure no internal organs had been damaged. She’d put in an hour of overtime and was one of the last people to leave for the day. As she exited the hospital, she saw Dax sitting on the hood of her Mercedes. His bike rested benignly beside her car.

The little thrill of excitement that shot through her confused the hell out of her since she’d half convinced herself that her response to Daxton Squire had been a figment of her imagination. There was no explanation for how her nipples turned into aching pebbles of excitement or how her pussy slicked the closer she walked toward him.

“How long have you been here?” she asked as she unlocked the car doors and tossed in her purse.

“Long enough to wave at all your co-workers.”

“Hmm,” she said. “How’d you find me?”

“Your car kind of stands out.”

She pursed her lips as she looked over the black Mercedes. “I suppose it does. This car wasn’t my choice. My grandfather insisted when I graduated.”

Dax whistled. “Nice grandfather. Should I volunteer to be your boy toy? I wouldn’t mind a new Harley SuperLow.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re not here for light sexual banter?”

He rose from the hood of her car and crossed his arms as he studied her. She couldn’t help thinking he was measuring her up for some reason.

“One of my club Brothers was killed Saturday night,” he said.

Panic flooded through her. She stepped up to Dax and placed her hands upon his folded arms. “Is Romeo okay?”

He cocked his head. “Romeo is pissed off, but fine.”

Relief crashed through her, leaving her a little dizzy and a little guilty. A club Brother had lost his life but all she cared about was that it wasn’t her man. “Who?”

“Babyface. He was a prospect.”

“I’m sorry, Dax. What happened?”

“He was murdered.”

“Shanks?”

“How do you know about the Shanks?” he demanded.

She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Really? You think I wouldn’t know about Romeo’s enemies?”

“Up until this moment, I half wondered if you were involved.”

“What?” she gasped. “I would never hurt Romeo, or the club.”

“I don’t know anything about you, Chloe, except you’re a stalker. Why
wouldn’t
I suspect you?”

She was getting a little tired of people labeling her as obsessive, crazy and a stalker. Hadn’t Dax listened to
anything
she’d said last night? “I told you, I’m here to repay a debt.”

“Yeah, one Romeo doesn’t even remember.”

She frowned. “He doesn’t remember? But… He was so kind.”

“Kind? Are you sure you have the right Romeo?”

“Of course, Dax.” She waved her hand. “It doesn’t matter if he remembers. I still owe him. But if it wasn’t the Shanks, then who was it?”

Dax didn’t say anything. He just stood staring at her—measuring her. Her heart sped up as their eyes met, locked. His brown eyes weren’t as dark as hers—milk chocolate to her near obsidian. He searched the depths of her soul. She wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but she hoped he figured out she wasn’t here to hurt Romeo. Finally, he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, glancing away from her.

“We’re going to have a little meeting with their leader later tonight, but I don’t think it’s them. This killing was…brutal. Precise. The Shanks are more killers of opportunity.”

“Is Romeo in danger?” she asked. She had to know. If he was, it changed everything.

“There was a message sent, telling us to get out of Bair or we’d all be taken apart piece by piece.”

A chill swept through her. Someone was threatening her man. Or…men?

“Why are you here, Chloe?”

“I told you why I came here.”

“For Romeo?”

“Yes.”

He nodded, as if he’d expected that answer. “Stop following him. Whoever killed our prospect targeted us, waited for him. It was an ambush. I don’t want you to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

She lifted her chin. “I can take care of myself.”

He took a step closer, crowding her. He tried to intimidate her with his size, but all it caused was a thrilling shot of lust to wash through her. “Listen, Chloe, this isn’t a fucking game. Babyface came back to us in pieces. You should go home, little girl. Go back to the money you seem to have grown up in.”

He left her standing there, marched toward his motorcycle and put his helmet on. He straddled his bike then looked at her. Once again, their gazes met. Held. For a moment, heat flashed through his dark orbs. He stared at her hungrily and an answering call rose in her blood. Then he started his bike and took off with a roar of its powerful engine. She watched after him until he was long gone, and still she hesitated in the near empty parking lot.

She’d known Romeo would need her, and this time it was real, not just an obsessive love-induced hallucination. Chloe unlocked her car and slid behind the wheel. The engine purred to life, and during the whole ride back to her apartment, she couldn’t help comparing Romeo with Nathan. She hadn’t met the leader of the Men of Hell—at least not yet—but already she knew Romeo was completely different from the doctor with whom she’d had a previous tangent episode. It was over Nathan that doctors had bandied about the word obsessive and co-workers had whispered ‘crazy’ behind their hands. She’d lost her job, her self-respect, and it had brought her grandfather back into her life.

For a while, she’d even believed them. She’d taken their drugs and had stayed in a posh resort while she recuperated from her mental break, wondering all the while why someone hadn’t done this when she was thirteen. Shouldn’t a child who’d been abused by her mother need the same tiptoeing care? No one had figured it out then, just as no one understood now, and on the heels of that realization, Chloe had checked herself out and chucked her meds down the toilet.

Shaking the memories away was the only way she could cope. Once inside her apartment, she set her purse down and hurried into her bedroom to pull out the file on the club she’d taken from her grandfather’s office. She read the assembled data until she arrived at the information on the drug gang operating in the small town. The Shanks didn’t seem very well organized, mostly relying on brute strength and threats as they peddled their prescription drug trade. They dabbled in meth and pot, but they were noted mostly for trafficking Oxycontin and Vicodin along Interstate 80. The trade route was one reason why the Shanks and the Men of Hell didn’t get along. Bair sat in a prime location, equidistant between Denver and Omaha.

Dax said they were going to hunt in the Shanks’ end of town, so she laid out a street map and looked over where that was exactly. At first glance, Bair didn’t seem all that big. The newer section was divided by the interstate, with the Men of Hell’s compound about two miles south. Their bar, the Whiskey Lick Her, lay on that stretch of road. That long drive was nothing but farmland. On the northbound side of the interstate lay the rest of the town. Just past the obligatory gas station, McDonald’s and crappy motel were the majority of small businesses and homes, including the hospital she worked in. She guessed it made sense for the pill pushers to be firmly settled into that area. The report stated their leader, a man named Mendoza, ran the junkyard just outside the town limits.

What if this Mendoza lay in wait for Romeo? What if there was an ambush, gun sights aimed directly on the MOH as they roared into their area? Harley’s weren’t exactly known for their stealth-like engines.

Dread settled in the pit of her stomach, gnawing at her insides like a carnivorous beast. What if Romeo was shot? What if he died? She had to do something. He
needed
her. Her gaze landed on her medical bag at the bottom of her closet. No doubt she’d be arrested for half the stuff she had in there, but it wasn’t as if she’d stolen the medicine to make a little extra cash. She’d put it together for this very purpose.